Breaking and Entering
by Ravvyn Z. Requiem
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. Sherlock/Lestrade angst ridden fluff. Sherlock shows up one night at Lestrade's flat after faking his death, unable to keep to a distance any longer. SLASH.


**Warning: Slaah. Nothing explicit however.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own. Belongs to the Moffat and BBC. Please don't sue me, unless you're in desperate need of pocket lint and canadian pennies (which are being taken out of circulation)**

**A/N: Just a short drabble/one-shot thingy. Post-Reichenbach, and more angsty than I had intended. So enjoy the angsty-fluff? (Can those even go in a sentence together?) I figured I'd write this to appease anyone who's been waiting for an update on "Damned if You Do, Damned If You Don't"... Which I swear is coming. Soon. Really ~puppydogeyes~ Well, and anyone else who just needs a dose of Sherlock/Lestrade loving. Anyways, please enjoy! Feedback, as always, is appreciated. **

_Breaking & Entering_

Sherlock looked back at the sleeping man on the bed behind him. Silently, he berated himself for his sentimentality. He, the great Sherlock Holmes, had been reduced to breaking into DI Gregory Lestrade's flat because he couldn't take watching him from a distance any longer. It was ridiculous. But still, there he was, looking out the DI's window as the man slept behind him, unaware of his visitor. Or so he believed. Calm brown eyes gazed at him sleepily, disbelief shining through the sleepy haze. The disheveled inspector propped himself up on one elbow, the blue grey shirt he wore wrinkling even more.

At the sound of the sheets rustling, Sherlock turned to be locked in a deep chocolate stare. They remained as such, in silence, for what seemed to be an eternity. Much to Greg's surprise, it was Sherlock who broke they eye contact first, looking away as if he wasn't sure he belonged there. Lestrade, however, was the first to speak. "You better not be leaving," he grumbled as he stood.

Sherlock looked surprised, but quickly regained his composure as he observed his host. Blue and black plaid flannel pants brushed the hardwood floor and Lestrade had managed to straighten out his wrinkled blue shirt. Despite looking haggard and sleep deprived, Sherlock had to admit that the other man looked _good. _Really good. Then he saw the fire in his eyes.

"You're angry," he stated matter-of-factly.

Greg put his face in his hands, considering denying it before standing. He ran a hand through his air and licked his lips in frustration. "Yeah, I am. Want to know why?"

Without bothering to wait for a response he pressed on, his voice rising slightly in volume. "I thought you were dead. And I knew, I knew all along that you were NOT a fraud. Because you might think me an idiot Sherlock, but you were more oblivious that me. You were so oblivious that you went and jumped off a building without realizing how it would hurt people. Hurt ME. You went and DIED without realizing I love you!"

The DI looked surprised at his own rant, and turned away, walking to the opposite side of the room. The world's only consulting detective stood dumbfounded at Lestrade's words. He'd been right. He hadn't realized it. The whole time they'd worked together he had believed his feelings one-sided. "You...you really do mean that don't you?"

Lestrade turned. He'd never heard Sherlock sound like that: small, vulnerable and almost child-like. Lestrade nodded, and looked up a Sherlock. Something in the younger man's eyes seemed to whisper _prove it. _Maybe they actually did, or maybe it was Lestrade's excuse for walking over and cupping Sherlock's face in his hands and kissing him. Hesitantly, yes, but it must have conveyed all the love and longing that the inspector had kept pent up for years because when he pulled back, scared of Sherlock's reaction -or lack thereof- and was about to apologize, the brunette pulled him back, wrapping his arms around the older man's shoulders. Sherlock just let his head fall on Greg's shoulder with a mumbled apology.

When they kissed again, the faintest taste of salt lingered on Sherlock's lips. Silently, Greg wiped the tears of the consulting detective face as he pulled him back towards the bed.

* * *

Sunlight broke over the horizon to bathe two sleeping figures in a warm glow. Lestrade opened his eyes to see if he'd been dreaming and desperately hoped he hadn't been. Feeling a soft warmth on his chest, he tightened his arms around Sherlock's slender form, tracing patterns over the fine fabric of his shirt. The latter blinked his eyes open and nuzzled into his neck.

"G'morning, Greg," the detective murmured sleepily. Lestrade tipped Sherlock's perfect, angular chin up towards him to place a chaste kiss upon his lips.

"Good morning, Sherlock."

Just the sound of his name slipping from Greg's lips sent a shiver up his spine, prompting him to pull Lestrade's face down to his and capture his lips in another kiss filled with passion and longing.

"I think," he breathed against the older man's lips, "that this... delightful... feeling is what they call love."

Lestrade smiled, understanding perfectly as he combed his fingers through dark brown curls.

"I love you too, Sherlock."

* * *

**There you are! Hope you enjoyed :) Also, for any Andrew Scott/Moriarty/Loki/Simm/Hiddleston fans, I have a blog all about villains. (shameless self promotion, I know.) ofmischiefandmadmen [dot] tumblr [dot] com ^^ Come visit.**

**Ravvyn~**


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